


winter

by gonnapop



Series: Pokémon Breeders [5]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, Come Inflation, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Feeding, Lactation Kink, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Other, Pokephilia, Pregnancy Kink, Stuffing, Trans Male Character, Weight Gain, birth kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonnapop/pseuds/gonnapop
Summary: When a traveler gets lost in a blizzard, a Beartic saves him and brings him back to its den. Grateful, the traveler lets the Beartic have its way with him—and soon grows fat with cubs.





	winter

**Author's Note:**

> based on [a prompt I received on tumblr](http://gonna-pop.tumblr.com/post/155146779150/you-know-it-would-actually-be-really-cool-to-see). I combined it with [a similar prompt that really appealed to me.](http://gonna-pop.tumblr.com/post/154190479170/ursaring-breeding-up-a-human-and-then-trying-to) I hope both anons are pleased with the result!
> 
> as usual, since I’m not a big fan of assbabies, our protagonist is a trans boy. he has a vagina, uterus, and all associated pipes and wires for babymaking. that said, we’re playing fast and loose with biology. this is pure fantasy.

At first, when Charlie wakes, all he remembers is the snow: bitter cold, wind whistling through the dense dark trees, his body going numb as he struggled to wade through thigh-deep snowdrifts.

He knows that he collapsed, too weak to pick himself up again. A feeling of warmth engulfed him, spreading through his limbs, and it seemed like a relief from all he’d endured so far. Dying wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared. And then, in his peripheral vision, he saw a shape looming over him.

Charlie had thought it was a hallucination, his brain sparking madly just before the cold took him. But then he was lifted out of the snow, into the arms of some unfamiliar creature, and held against its solid bulk. Even if he’d wanted to struggle, he was too weak. The wind rasped against his exposed skin, so he’d turned his face, pressing it into the fur of whatever was carrying him. At some point, he must’ve passed out, because that’s the last thing he remembers.

Peeling his eyes open, all Charlie sees at first is velvety darkness. He hears the wind outside, but it sounds muffled, far away. Slowly, his eyes adjust, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows. He appears to be in a cave, dry and clean, the kind that hibernating Pokémon tend to favor.

Beartic. All at once, Charlie remembers. He had been caught in a blizzard, lost in the wilderness, and a Beartic saved him—gathered him in its arms and carried him through the snow to this den.

Now he’s lying in what can only be Beartic’s nest. It’s surprisingly soft and comfortable, made of furs layered over what he assumes are densely-packed leaves and grasses, thick enough that the cold of the cave floor doesn’t seep through. More furs, as well as blankets and what appears to be an unzipped sleeping bag, have been draped over Charlie’s body, warm against his bare skin.

Bare skin. He’s naked. Charlie is alarmed to realize this, before he sees his clothes laid out on the cave floor nearby, along with his pack. Beartic must’ve stripped off his wet clothes to keep him from freezing to death; its paws must be more dexterous than Charlie imagined. For what it’s worth, he’s warm and dry now.

Looking around, he sees that the den is decorated here and there with man-made items—flashlights, tent poles, other odds and ends—which Beartic might’ve picked up from travelers or campsites. It’s not unusual for certain wild Pokémon to use and enjoy human items, and it explains the blankets and sleeping bags in the nest.

Beartic is nowhere to be seen. Farther back, there’s a gap in the rough stone wall, which probably leads deeper into the cave. Maybe that’s where his unexpected savior has gone. Charlie hopes it will be back soon.

He wants to wait for its return, to communicate with it somehow, express his gratitude. But he’s still exhausted from his ordeal. Entirely against his will, Charlie’s eyes fall shut.

 

* * *

 

Charlie wakes the second time because he senses something moving over him. The covering has slid off him somehow, and he tenses when he feels warm breath against his back. It’s Beartic, snuffling at his exposed skin. He can’t see the Pokémon from this angle, but he can feel it there.

He holds still, waiting for Beartic to stop investigating him, not wanting to startle it with any sudden movements. Charlie’s heart thumps unevenly. He’s afraid, but also a little excited, in a way that he doesn’t understand.

Beartic’s nose brushes his lower back, leaving a wet, cold tracery that makes him shiver. Then the snout moves lower, along the curve of his ass, down to his thighs. It lingers there for a moment, then nuzzles in closer.

Charlie gasps. This is more than he can quietly accept. “Whoa there,” he squeaks, twisting away and clamping his thighs together defensively. “That’s private!”

Undeterred, the Beartic shoves its nose between his legs, obviously seeking his pussy. Charlie yelps, but doesn’t struggle, unsure of what to do, how to fend off Beartic’s attentions.

The warm breath on his cunt makes him shudder unexpectedly. His thighs twitch, opening a few centimeters, and Beartic seems to take this as an invitation. It works one paw between his legs and parts his thighs. Charlie just lies there, half out of shock, and half out of sheer curiosity. He almost can’t believe this is happening.

Once his legs are spread, Beartic dips its great head and licks a stripe from his entrance to his clit. Its tongue is smooth, not rough like Charlie would’ve imagined, and very hot. Charlie whines. If Beartic notices, it gives no sign, just buries its snout deeper in his cunt and laps at him.

For a few long minutes, the only sounds are the slick sounds of the Beartic’s steady licking, and Charlie’s moans and gasping breaths. It doesn’t take long for his clit to harden; before long, he’s dripping wet. He’s been eaten out before, sure, but never like this. It’s all-consuming.

Beartic’s nose keeps bumping deliciously against Charlie’s stiff clit. His legs sprawl open bonelessly; his hips twitch upward almost of their own volition. He squirms, breath coming faster, a pressure mounting steadily between his legs. And then suddenly, he comes with a shout, his cunt pulsing and spasming against Beartic’s tongue.

Dazed with pleasure, Charlie looks up at Beartic, whose massive head is still between his thighs. When Beartic finally straightens, looming over him, Charlie notices its cock: almost purple in color, long and thick and fully erect, drooling clear fluid. Somehow, the sight of it makes Charlie’s cunt flutter. He wants it.

Languidly, he rolls over onto his stomach, then pushes himself up onto his knees and elbows, ass raised, legs spread. He can imagine how he looks from Beartic’s perspective: slick and red and wanting. If anyone else saw him in this position, he’d be mortified—but in this place, in this moment, his lust overrides his common sense.

One rough-padded paw settles on his hip, as if to hold him in place. And then the blunt head of Beartic’s cock is nudging against his cunt.

Charlie can’t help but moan as it breaches him. It’s just the tip, but the stretch is already delicious. When the Beartic shoves the rest of the way inside—swiftly, without gentleness—his moan turns into a wail, half out of pleasure and half out of pain.

For a moment, neither of them moves. Charlie’s breath comes in ragged gasps. He feels split open, impaled on Beartic’s cock. Nothing has ever filled him so deeply. It’s overwhelming. Beartic pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in. Soon, it picks up a rhythm: a wet slide, in and out, the sound of it slick and obscene.

Burying his face in his forearms, Charlie keens each time Beartic slams into him. His face feels like it’s on fire. Pleasure is mounting between his legs; he can feel himself getting close again. He’s so wet that he can feel it slicking the insides of his thighs.

When Beartic comes, it’s with a low rumbling noise of pleasure. Its cock pulses and spurts deep inside Charlie’s cunt for what feels like half a minute. The sensation pushes Charlie over the edge for the second time. He spasms wildly around the Beartic’s cock, keening, which seems to wring out even more come.

Charlie feels come dribbling out of his pussy as Beartic pulls out. He doesn’t attempt to clean himself up; he’s too loose-limbed with pleasure to do anything but sprawl across the nest and fall asleep, their mingled fluids cooling on his thighs.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, he feels Beartic nudging his thighs apart again, adjusting the angle of his hips. Charlie doesn’t resist. Instead, he just lies there, sleepy and warm, while Beartic fucks him again. It’s easy, since he’s still wet and loose from the first go.

Just like before, Beartic does not come inside of him so much as it fountains. Charlie feels strangely, pleasurably full when Beartic pulls out. Drowsy from orgasm, it doesn’t take him long to fall back asleep. Beartic settles down beside him, close enough for Charlie to feel the warmth radiating from its body.

The third time Beartic fucks him, hours later, Charlie judges that it’s morning, though he has no way to tell for sure. He lies on his back to take Beartic’s cock this time, knees folded against his chest, back arching with each thrust.

As he catches his breath, Charlie glances down at himself. His belly is slightly rounded, which tells him that he wasn’t imagining that feeling of fullness. He almost can’t believe that Beartic pumped him so full of semen.

It’s shocking—and yet, smoothing his hand along the gentle curve of his belly sends a little shiver of excitement through him. Here is the evidence of what he’s been up to, under his skin.

 

* * *

 

For days, the blizzard continues to rage. Charlie can’t hazard a guess at how long it will take to clear up, but as it is, waiting isn’t so bad.

The den is warm and safe, and Beartic is surprisingly good company. It fucks Charlie several times a day, in a variety of positions, leaving him well-used and sweetly exhausted. It also feeds him from its generous winter stores: roots and berries and dried meat—some type of unidentified wild game, presumably. There’s even fish, apparently caught fresh from a stream deeper in this cave system, which Beartic eats raw and Charlie cooks over a small fire. And when they sleep together in the nest, Beartic keeps Charlie warm with its own body.

It’s hard to track the days, considering it never gets all that light out, but Charlie does his best, scratching tally marks into the cave wall to approximate. He estimates that they spend a week like that, the two of them.

Part of him knows he should be ashamed of his behavior. It’s hedonistic. Wanton. Obscene. Mating with a Pokémon is almost unthinkable, the kind of thing you only see in niche porn that you’d never admit to watching.

But he’s alone in this frozen wilderness. Nobody else is here to judge him, and when he returns to civilization, no one will ever guess what transpired in this den. He might as well enjoy these unique pleasures while he has the chance.

 

* * *

 

Charlie wakes one morning to an almost deafening silence. For a moment, he’s confused by the lack of sounds, until it hits him that the wind has finally died down.

Methodically, he dons his winter gear and prepares to head back out into the wilderness. As much as he’s enjoyed this time with Beartic, he knows he can’t stay here forever. He was on his way to Snowpoint City, and it’s best that he get back on course to his destination.

Beartic’s having none of it, though. When Charlie attempts to leave the den, Beartic physically blocks the exit, and growls menacingly when he tries to push past. Alarmed, Charlie takes half a step back.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Charlie says, in a placating tone. He’s a little scared all of a sudden, his pulse kicking up. Beartic hasn’t hurt him yet, but that doesn’t mean it never will. “I’m not going anywhere today. Gotcha.”

It’s just as well, Charlie tells himself later, because he’s feeling poorly: tired and vaguely nauseated. He probably couldn’t make a long trek through the snowy wilderness like this anyway. Eventually, he retires to the nest and resolves to make another attempt soon, once he’s feeling better.

He sleeps through most of the next few days, rousing himself only to eat and take Beartic’s cock. No matter how much he sleeps, though, he’s still exhausted. The nausea doesn’t abate; he finds himself oddly sensitive to smell. In any other circumstances, Charlie would think he was sick, but he’s not running a fever. He can’t figure out what’s wrong with him.

Sometimes, when they roll around in the nest together, Beartic likes to play with Charlie’s small tits: pawing lightly at them, mounding them together, nibbling gently at the delicate skin. It drove Charlie wild in the beginning, but now he can’t tolerate that touch for long. His tits have become uncharacteristically sensitive.

One day, when Beartic’s paws on his breasts make him hiss in pain, something clicks in Charlie’s mind.

Nausea. Fatigue. Sore breasts.

All at once, Charlie understands why Beartic wants to confine him to the den, why it always seems to be pushing food at him. Through some sense that Charlie doesn’t possess, Beartic has deduced that Charlie is pregnant.

It makes an awful kind of sense. There’s no other logical explanation. He should’ve known his luck would run out at some point.

But what the hell is he supposed to do?

 

* * *

 

The way Charlie sees it, his only option is to wait it out.

Even if Beartic allowed him to leave the den, he doesn’t think he’d get far in his rather delicate condition. Supposing he made the trek to Snowpoint City, how could he explain the pregnancy? He could claim that Beartic forced itself on him, perhaps, but he doesn’t think he could handle the shame of others knowing he’d had any kind of relations with a Pokémon, consensual or otherwise. With that in mind, Charlie decides that the safest option is simply to stay here until nature runs its course.

Before the fifth week is out, he’s beginning to show. Once he notices, he can’t stop running his hands over the tiny bump between his hipbones. Beartic doesn’t miss it, either, and sometimes nuzzles his belly affectionately.

Charlie lies awake some nights, nestled warmly against Beartic’s bulk, and imagines the Cubchoo growing inside of him. It’s terrifying, but also fascinating. He hadn’t imagined that humans and Beartic were reproductively compatible in the first place, much less that such a pregnancy would progress so quickly.

Weeks pass, and Charlie swells up dutifully, faster than he would’ve believed possible. At only eight weeks, his condition would be obvious to anyone, his stomach rounded in a way that’s impossible to mistake. He begins to feel movement deep inside of him: mere flutters at first, getting stronger by the day. By ten weeks, he’s waddling around the den, one hand supporting his swollen belly, the other pressed against the base of his spine.

It’s not just his belly that’s growing, either. Cubs aside, he’s thickening up nicely. He’s sure Beartic is doing this on purpose: constantly pushing food on him to fatten him up, no doubt with the goal of giving him enough reserves to get him and the cubs through the long winter.

Charlie hasn’t dressed himself in weeks—there’s really no need for clothing in the warm den, and besides, Beartic prefers to have full access to his body at all times—but he wonders if he’d be able to get his pants over his ass. He’d probably struggle to tug his undershirt over his swollen tits, never mind his belly. By now, he supposes he’s almost unrecognizable.

Beartic seems to like him this way—fat and soft and languid, swollen with young. Day in and day out, Beartic is intensely interested in Charlie’s growing body, tracing the stretch marks on his belly and inner thighs, nuzzling his fleshy hips. Now that Charlie is too heavy with cubs to lie on his back for any length of time, Beartic maneuvers him onto his hands and knees so it can take him from behind, or rolls him onto his side and fucks him in that position.

Charlie doesn’t mind Beartic’s near-constant attentions. He would’ve thought that he’d be uninterested in sex at this stage, enormous as he is, but it seems as though pregnancy—and the accompanying flood of hormones—are having the opposite effect. He’s constantly wet, his pussy throbbing, desperate for friction.

It doesn’t hurt that Beartic has been able to wring some truly spectacular orgasms out of him these last few weeks. He’s never come this hard in his life.

 

* * *

 

Most days, Charlie is ravenous. Carrying a litter of what he can only guess are big, healthy cubs will do that. Beartic is happy to feed him as much as he’ll eat—and sometimes, much more than that.

“I’m gonna puke or pop, one of the two,” Charlie manages one night, at the tail end of a massive meal of sweet winter roots and fish, which Charlie showed Beartic how to cook over a fire weeks ago. It’s hard to catch his breath: Between the food in his belly and the cubs in his womb, there’s not much room left for his lungs. “Seriously, Beartic—I’m done.”

He glances at his belly in dismay: not just pregnant, but stuffed, the skin stretched taut. Propped up like this, he can feel the fleshy rolls accumulating at his sides, the deepening creases at his hips, the way his asscheeks spread out beneath him. He almost can’t believe he’s getting so fat.

With painstaking slowness, he eases himself onto his side in the nest. Since he’s much too big to lie on his back, this is the only sleeping position available to him. His belly gurgles and complains at even gentle movement.

Groaning, Charlie strokes his churning belly as it struggles to digest that massive meal. He knows from experience that it will take hours. He rubs gently, in steady circles, as if he can rearrange his stomach’s contents into a more comfortable configuration.

Before long, he feels something else: twitching inside of him. He doesn’t know if it’s the massage or his stomach’s grumbling that stirs the cubs in his belly, but they’re active now, squirming restlessly. They’re strong enough that Charlie can often see their movements, not just feel them. His belly twitches gently as they kick and roll over. He smiles a little to himself, surprised by how fond he is of the cubs already.

Stuffed beyond belief, Charlie doesn’t so much fall asleep as he slips into a food-induced stupor. He wakes up wet, Beartic’s head nuzzled between his thighs, tongue lapping at his cunt, cubs wriggling inside of him. Beneath him, the bedding is already soaked.

 

* * *

 

Charlie’s tits are becoming a problem. They’ve ballooned to three times their original size, the thin skin traced with pale blue veins. Just cupping them in his own hands is painful. They’re swollen and tight, like overfull water balloons, hot to the touch. He’s full of milk, practically bursting with it.

“I’m not in the mood, okay?” he mumbles, trying halfheartedly to push Beartic away as it noses at his chest. “I’m tired and my tits hurt. I don’t want—”

He breaks off with a gasp when Beartic takes a nipple into its mouth and bites down gently.

Charlie swats at Beartic’s snout, instinctively. “Stop that! What are you doing?”

A low growl rumbles up from low in Beartic’s throat, warning Charlie to stay still. He complies grudgingly. He can’t help but hiss in pain as Beartic begins to suck his oversensitive nipple, but he forces himself to endure it.

As Beartic sucks more firmly, something trickles out of Charlie—not quite a flow, but promising all the same. It’s a strange sensation.

And then, when Beartic has been suckling steadily for a few minutes, Charlie feels the first hot gush of milk spurt into Beartic’s mouth.

Beartic makes a contented noise and continues to suckle. One of Charlie’s hands slides up to cradle the back of Beartic’s head, holding it in place. He’s breathing faster. This feels better than he would’ve imagined—not just the relief of draining his aching breast, but a sensuality that he could not have expected. He can feel himself getting wet. More than that, the stimulation is causing his other nipple to leak, all on its own.

When Charlie’s breast is empty, Beartic moves immediately the other one. It licks at his skin, lapping up the milk that has dribbled onto his belly, then takes the nipple into its mouth and nurses eagerly.

It becomes routine after that: Every morning, Charlie wakes to Beartic nursing from him, drinking him dry and sparing him the discomfort of full breasts. It’s a delicious solution.

As time passes, however, Charlie can’t help but notice that his breasts are swelling up even bigger, and filling up faster. Before long, he needs Beartic to nurse two or three times a day just to stay comfortable. It doesn’t make sense, until he remembers something he read a long time ago, about how the more a baby nurses, the more milk the mother produces, to keep up with demand.

Beartic’s nursing is stimulating Charlie’s body to produce even more milk. In a way, it’s compounding the problem—but the relief it provides is much too sweet to stop.

 

* * *

 

He’s getting so big.

By Charlie’s count, he’s almost four months pregnant, and he’s practically immobile. It’s a struggle just to heave himself from his side to his back, or to sit up on his own. More often than not, Beartic has to bring him food and water, because at this late stage, it’s far too much trouble to waddle across the den.

He’s grown well and truly fat, having packed on winter weight in his breasts, thighs and ass, to say nothing of his belly, which is painfully tight. With his womb filled to capacity, the cubs have less space to roll and kick; still, he feels them wriggling inside him at all hours, sees their little bodies outlined against his skin. Sometimes Beartic lies beside him in the nest, nosing and licking gently at his belly, as if communicating with them.

Charlie can’t even hazard a guess at how many cubs are growing inside of him. More than two, obviously, but beyond that, he has no idea. He won’t find out for sure until they’re born, which is something he tries not to think about.

On one hand, he’s ready for this to be over. But on the other hand, he’s dreading the prospect of actually giving birth. He just hopes that, when the time comes, his body will know what to do.

 

* * *

 

Charlie estimates that he’s been living in the den for almost six months when the pains start. Snow is still deep on the ground, but the daily temperatures are rising little by little, as what passes for spring in this part of the world draws nearer. Charlie supposes it makes sense that the cubs are coming now; female Beartic probably give birth in early spring.

Charlie doesn’t know how long this is supposed to take, or how much it’s supposed to hurt. He just hopes everything that’s happening is normal. Beartic pushes food at him, and he forces himself to eat a little, knowing he needs to keep his strength up. He spends the better part of a day in a kind of fugue state, attempting to rest between increasingly-painful contractions, changing position in the nest as he feels the need.

As night falls, he feels a pop, and then a gush of hot fluid down his thighs. If his water has broken, that must mean he’s getting close—right? Charlie mops himself up as best he can, but he can hardly reach his inner thighs with his great round belly in the way. He ends up lying back with his legs spread so Beartic can lick him clean. Somehow, it’s not humiliating, as he would’ve thought; rather, it feels intimate.

It’s the middle of the night when Charlie feels the urge to push. With difficulty, he maneuvers himself onto his hands and knees, spreading his legs as best he can. This position feels better to him for some reason, more effective. He rocks his hips a little, bearing down. It hurts, but there’s relief, too.

He notices Beartic’s presence behind him, a few hot breaths against the backs of his thighs—and then he gasps when Beartic licks a stripe along his cunt, from bottom to top. Beartic makes a low rumbling noise, of either pleasure or approval, and then begins to lap messily at Charlie’s cunt, nuzzling into the wet warmth of him. Charlie doesn’t know if this bizarre treatment is instinctive, some kind of technique meant to open him up and help the birthing, or if Beartic is just taking an opportunity to indulge itself. But it feels good, so he doesn’t complain.

For what feels like an hour, he pushes with each contraction, struggling to shove the cub out. A new pressure builds low in his pelvis, between his legs: a heaviness as something stretches him open from within. Another spurt of hot fluid leaks down his thighs. With a trembling hand, he reaches behind himself to probe at his cunt—and a shocked moan escapes him when he feels something slick and solid emerging from between his swollen folds.

Beartic is immediately behind him again, licking fretfully at his cunt, making low noises of encouragement. Determined, Charlie drops his head and pushes harder.

He cries out in pain as the cub squeezes slowly out of his body, inch by inch; it’s thicker than Beartic’s cock, he thinks dizzily, which is a challenge for him on a good day. His pussy is stretched tight around the cub, threatening to tear as he huffs and strains.

On the next push, he howls at the immense stretch and sudden wet give when the cub slips free of his body. All at once, the unbearable pressure is gone. Charlie collapses onto his side, into the densely-packed nest, his breath coming in gasps.

He looks over his shoulder, and there it is: a plump Cubchoo, slick with blood and other fluids, eyes closed, stirring weakly. Beartic is already licking it clean. The stimulation causes the cub to snuffle and whine.

Gently, Beartic deposits the cub in the nest beside Charlie, who immediately pulls it close, compelled by an instinct he doesn’t understand. The cub sniffs and squirms and roots for a nipple; Charlie guides it to his breast, and finds himself huffing in awe when the cub latches on with a contented noise. His milk lets down, and the cub begins to feed.

For a little while, he rests, feeling strangely warm and content as the cub nurses and Beartic laps lazily at his cunt and inner thighs. If Beartic is trying to clean him, it’s a futile gesture; very soon, he’ll be a mess again.

The second cub comes faster and easier. His contractions are strong enough that Charlie is able to deliver it lying on his side, moaning as he pushes it out. It’s born in a torrent of fluid that soaks the bedding, and proves to be as fat as its older sibling. Beartic wastes no time in licking the cub clean and giving it to Charlie, who brings it to his swollen breast.

By morning, two more cubs have arrived. Charlie is sobbing as he births the fourth—half in pleasure and half in pain—and Beartic licks the tears from his hot cheeks. When the afterbirth slides out of his opened-up cunt, Beartic devours it. Charlie is too exhausted to question this, or even look askance.

Even so, Charlie doesn’t want to sleep. He doubts that he could, with all the hormones pumping through his body. As he lies back in the nest, he feels unbelievably peaceful. Beartic curls itself around him protectively, warm and solid and comforting, and watches Charlie and their cubs.

The two oldest cubs are tucked against Charlie’s sides, deeply asleep, their bellies round with milk. The other two are cradled in his arms, their tiny faces buried in his soft breasts. Charlie begins to despair of nursing his whole litter easily—with four fat, healthy, growing cubs to feed, he’ll probably spend half the day and night with a hot little mouth suckling at each tit. He won't be able to leave them for months, either, not until they're off the breast and can survive on different food. Until then, Charlie will be stuck in the den.

But then again, based on experience, that may not be such a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! as always, you’re invited to come holler at me [on tumblr](http://gonna-pop.tumblr.com/ask). ♥


End file.
